CHAPTER 30
“So, are you gonna call her?”
Hayes’s voice cuts through the quiet of the car, casual but edged, and I know exactly who he’s talking about. The waitress. The number. I don’t answer. I keep my eyes on the road ahead, the city lights blurring past as I toy with the silver ring around my pointer finger.
I can feel his gaze on me—heavy, lingering, like he’s trying to peel something out of me without touching. The silence stretches, thick and charged, and I let it. Let him sit in it.
“Silent treatment?” he adds, amusement threading his tone. “Come on, Miller. I’m just asking a question.”
Slowly, I turn my head and look at him. My voice comes out low, measured.
“Do you want me to call her?”
That does it.
His smirk slips. Just a fraction, but I catch it. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening before he reins it in. For a beat, he says nothing, eyes flicking back to the road like it suddenly needs all his attention. The hum of the engine fills the space between us.
“Why would I care?” he finally says.
Steady voice. Too steady.
I don’t look away. I watch his jaw tense, the muscle ticking as something unreadable flickers across his face. “You brought it up,” I reply, sharper now. “So clearly, you care about something.”
He exhales through his nose and shakes his head, forcing that familiar cocky smirk back into place like armor. “I just think it’s funny,” he says. “You get a number handed to you on a silver platter, and you’re acting like it’s a big deal.”
I scoff and lean back in my seat. “Like you said earlier—it’s none of your fucking business, Hayes.”
His fingers start tapping against the steering wheel. Not steady. Not controlled. An uneven rhythm I’ve seen before, the one he slips into when something’s crawling under his skin and he doesn’t want anyone to know.
He’s jealous. And he hates that I can see it.
I turn back to the window, watching the city pass, but the tension in the car is suffocating—tight, electric, pressing against my chest and settling lower too, in a way I don’t want to think about.
“You’re right,” Hayes says at last, his voice low and clipped. “It’s not my business.”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye, catching the way his jaw tightens even more.
“Glad you figured that out,” I say, sharper than I mean to.
His grip on the wheel tightens again, fingers flexing like he’s trying to shake something loose. Then, barely under his breath, like it slips out before he can stop it—
“But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
My head snaps toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He exhales again, frustration bleeding through as he glances at me for half a second before fixing his eyes back on the road.
“Nothing,” he says. “Forget it.”
I straighten in my seat, irritation flaring hot and fast. “No,” I snap. “You don’t get to throw shit like that out there and then pretend it’s nothing. If you’ve got something to say, Griffin, fucking say it.”
For a moment, he says nothing, and I almost think he’s going to brush me off again. Then he lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?” My voice rises despite my attempt to keep it steady.
He looks at me then—really looks at me—and the intensity in his dark eyes makes my stomach twist. “You. Us. This whole… thing between us,” he says. “It’s not as simple as you keep pretending it is.”
My gut flips, sharp and traitorous, but I force my shoulders back. “There is no thing, Hayes,” I say, even as my voice wavers. “You’re just—”
“Just what?” he cuts in, sharper now. “Just some guy on your hockey team? Just some asshole who gets under your skin?”
“Yes,” I fire back, heart pounding. “Exactly.”
He laughs again, softer this time, disbelief threaded through it. “Then why are you so worked up right now?”
The question lands like a slap.
My mind blanks. I want to deflect, to snap something back, but the way he’s watching me—like he’s daring me to admit something I’m not ready to face—pins me in place.
Why does he always do this? Why do I keep letting him? Letting him dig his fingers into places I’ve spent years barricading. Ever since the lake, I knew better than to let Hayes in. Knew better than to let him dismantle every wall I built just because my heart keeps betraying me.
This feeling will pass. It has to. Because I don’t know how many close proximities, silent confessions, and loaded looks I can survive before I let him have his way with me.
Shit.
The thought alone makes my skin crawl and burn at the same time. Makes me want to punch something—or slam my head against a wall just to knock whatever the hell this is out of me.
The car suddenly feels too small. The air too thick. Like there’s no room to breathe.
I turn toward the window, desperate for distance, even if it’s just glass between us.
“I’m not worked up,” I say finally, quieter but no less defensive. “You’re imagining things.”
“Right,” Hayes replies dryly. “Because you’re always this tense around everyone.”
I clench my jaw, refusing to rise to it. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Even if he’s right. Even if I’m always wound tight around him—and I know exactly why.
“I think you like it,” he adds, his voice softer now, but no less sharp. “The way I get under your skin.”
I whip my head back toward him. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I snap. “You’re not that special.”
His smirk returns—small, slow, almost seductive—but there’s something different in his eyes now. Something darker. More deliberate. “Keep telling yourself that, Miller.”
I scoff, letting out a short, humorless laugh as I turn back to the window. “You don’t know shit, Hayes. Just fucking drive.”
He scoffs under his breath. I glance at him from the corner of my eye and catch the way his jaw tightens, the muscle ticking like he’s biting back something he doesn’t want to say.
I shake my head, wondering how the hell Coach Rivera expects us to bond—or whatever bullshit word he’s using—when Hayes is this irritating by default.
“You know,” Hayes says, his eyes locked on the road as he grips the wheel, “if you’ve got something on your mind, just say it. Listening to you scoff every five seconds is irritating.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “You’re one to talk.” I turn slightly in my seat, pointing between us. “The only reason I’m sitting here and pretending like you’re fucking important is because I want this to work. For the team. So don’t start talking to me about ‘us,’ because there is no us.”
He doesn’t interrupt. That alone pisses me off more.
“We’re gonna act civil,” I continue, voice tight, “pretend like we don’t hate each other—even though we do—because I don’t feel like getting benched. But make no mistake, Griffin. I want to punch you every time I look at you.”
Hayes’s lips curve again, slow and deliberate, as he nods once. “Okay.”
“Good.”
The hum of the tires against the highway fills the car, steady and relentless, like it’s matching the tension coiled between us. Hayes drives with one hand on the wheel, relaxed on the surface, while I stare out the window, watching streetlights blur past in streaks of gold and white.
The silence isn’t awkward. It’s loaded.
I clench my fists, trying to will the heat in my chest to cool down. The radio crackles to life, snapping me out of my thoughts. Hayes flips through stations—bursts of static, half-heard voices, a pop song that makes my skin crawl. Then an even worse talk show.
“You’re terrible at this,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
He raises an eyebrow, flicking me a sideways glance. “Got something better in mind, Miller?”
I open my mouth to snap back—but then he lands on another station.
The opening chords hit, soft and familiar, and my chest tightens instantly. The song pours into the car, warm and unmistakable, dragging memories with it—late-night drives, headphones in, lyrics I never shared with anyone.
I freeze.
Hayes notices. Of course he does.
“Leave it,” I say quickly, before he can change it again.
Hayes pauses, his hand hovering over the dial. “You like this?”
“It’s The Lighters,” I say, as if that explains everything. “Who doesn’t?”
A slow grin spreads across his face, and he leans back in his seat, letting the song play. “Didn’t think you’d be into them. Kind of… emotional for you, isn’t it?”
I glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “And you’re not?”
“Fair point,” he admits, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. “Their last album was solid.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Wait—you actually listen to them?”
He smirks, glancing at me. “What, you think I only listen to trash?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation, and he laughs, the sound low and genuine. It makes something twist in my chest, and I hate how much I like the sound of it.
“Guess I surprised you, then,” he says, his voice lighter now. “I’ve got range, Miller. You should try it sometime.”
“Right,” I mutter, turning my gaze back to the window. But I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips as the song swells, the lyrics filling the car. For a moment, it’s almost easy, the tension between us fading into something softer, something I don’t know how to name.
When the song ends, Hayes glances at me again, his smirk softer now. “So, what’s your favorite track?”
I hesitate, debating whether to answer, but his expression is curious, not mocking. “Probably ‘Shadows.’ It’s… good.”
“‘Shadows,’ huh?” He nods, his tone thoughtful. “Yeah, that one’s solid. Mine’s ‘Falling Faster.’ Something about it just hits.”
I glance at him, surprised. “That’s… a good pick.”
“Thanks,” he says, grinning. “See? We might actually have something in common.”
I roll my eyes, but the warmth in my chest lingers, and for once, I don’t feel the need to fight it.
A new song pops up, filling up the space of his car as I lean against the car seat. I can feel Hayes' eyes on me, his gaze intense, with a mixture of something else. It feels as if he's peeling back every layer of clothing I have on.
“Quit it, Hayes. Stop staring at me like that.”
“Like what?”
I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips as I look out the window.
I don't know how he does it, but each time he looks at me, a wave of warmth spreads through me, uninvited and impossible to ignore. It’s infuriating how easily he gets under my skin, how his gaze feels like it’s unraveling parts of me I’ve tried so hard to keep hidden.
Hayes speaks again, his tone softer now. “You know, you’re not as hard to figure out as you think you are.”
I glance up, narrowing my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “Just that maybe you’re not as good at hiding how you feel as you think you are.”
His words hang in the air, heavy and loaded, and I hate how they hit a little too close to home. But instead of letting him see how much he’s gotten to me, I smirk and shake my head.
“You’re full of shit, Hayes,” I say, my voice steady even though my heart is pounding.
“Maybe,” he says, that damn smirk still firmly in place. “But you’re still sitting here with me, aren’t you?”
I glare at him, less sharper than I want to, but I don’t have a response. And the worst part is, he knows it.